she's the flame that fuels your fire
by prettypinklips
Summary: Bolin strolls in, Pabu on his shoulder, "Hey, bro, you seen Korra—oh my Spirits!" Bolin cries, screwing his own eyes shut before clapping both hands over Pabu's eyes. "Please tell me you were not just macking." -— mako/korra, bolin and pabu ruining the moment.


**she's the flame that fuels your fire**

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The flames dance off of Mako's skin, filling the training room with smoke and an unwavering heat. He wipes a hand across his brow before throwing a kick at the unmoving target across the room. The paper target falls to the ground, charred and smoking. He sighs, scrubbing a hand across the stubble on his chin. "Bored?" an amused voice questions from behind him.

He knows that voice, would know even if he couldn't see her, "Korra," he greets, "what are you doing here?"

Korra pushes herself off of the wall, "This is _my_ Air Temple, Mako." she chuckles, "Or have you forgotten?"

Mako turns away, flexing his fist and lighting the charred target on fire, burning it to a crisp until there was nothing left. He couldn't look at her, couldn't get lost in those blue eyes of hers like he'd been prone to lately. He focuses on the flames coming from his hands, and doesn't hear her when she asks if something is bothering him.

"Mako," she touches his shoulder, and repeats her question, "hey, is something bothering you?"

Mako stiffens under her touch, "I'm—I'm just tired." he says, and it's true. Between Amon, Korra, and Bolin, all he's been lately is tired. But it wasn't only the pure exhaustion that was bothering him, it was a combination of everything else. There's the fear of losing his bending, of his brother losing his bending, of Korra losing the fight altogether. It keeps him up at night, and charring up a handmade paper target is the only way he knows how to deal with it.

Korra nods, like she understands, and maybe she does. If he's this stressed and he's not even the Avatar, he can't imagine how she must feel. He's never thought to ask her.

"You know," Korra begins, loosening her belt and pulling her over-shirt above her head, ignoring his confused look, "when I'm 'tired'," she gives him a pointed look that let's him know that his tired excuse isn't fooling her, "I like to _wake up!_" and with her last two words, he's sailing across the room with a blast of cold, too cold, water.

Mako chokes, wiping water from his eyes, looking up to see Korra smirking. He gulps when he realizes she's standing in just her sparring gear; tight pants, chest covering, bare feet. Her caramel skin glistens in the heat he'd put out with his bending, and _Agni,_ is that a bead of sweat dripping down her stomach—

Mako twitchily shakes his head, jackknifing back up, flames lighting at his fingertips, "Bring it on, Avatar Korra." he smirks, throwing a flaming ball at her.

Korra dodges it easily, almost lazily, and Mako shakes his head again. He'd never beat her in a head to head battle. He's glad he'll never have to try.

Korra comes at him with a cement chunk taken from the wall, and he jumps over it, shakily landing on the ground. Korra's laughter and his groans of pain fill the room.

She's in her element, weaving back and forth, eyes alight. She's so enigmatic, wild looking, alive. Spirits, _beautiful._ And he's never thought that about anybody. _Ever._ He grimaces, tries to push those thoughts away, because he can't think that about her—

Korra launches a rock at him, but Mako gains momentum, firing at her over and over. She loses her balance, falling backwards against the far wall. He flames from his feet, sailing across the room to meet her blast of ice head on. Korra falls forward as he burns the ice wall she throws at him. She lands on him, and he groans, falling under her sudden weight.

They hit the ground together, Korra against his chest. "_Ugh,_" he groans, "what do you eat? _Rocks?_" he questions, and Korra smacks his shoulder.

"What are you trying to say?" she snaps, struggling to get up. His arm traps her against him, and he doesn't bother moving it. He likes the feel of her soft lines against his hard edges.

"I'm trying to say that you weigh a _ton._" he snarks, smirking. Korra growls, though she doesn't sound particularly bothered. Of course she wouldn't be, she's never cared for things like that, happy with the way she looked. He liked that. Liked her confidence. Liked that she was comfortable in her own skin.

And it was easy, with her, to just be. They stayed like that for awhile, leaning against each other. Her slow, even breathing matched his own, and he realizes that, Spirits, he would never find another girl like this.

Mako's never been good with feelings and attraction and—

Korra sighs, "We're friends, right, Mako?" she asks, breaking the cool silence between them.

"Of course." he answers without hesitation.

"Okay, well," she sits up, looking at him over her shoulder. He stretches his arms out and folds them behind his head, and stares up at her, not quite meeting her too blue eyes. "if I ask you something, do you promise to give me nothing but the truth and to not make fun of me for it?" she questions.

Mako blinks, but nods anyway. What was she—

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she blurts out before slapping her hands over her mouth, cheeks blazing. She obviously hadn't meant for it to come out like that. He stills, heart thudding loudly in his chest. Of course he did. (Perhaps she wasn't as confident as he'd previously thought.) She was—Spirits, she was beautiful. She didn't know it? Nobody had ever told her? Long brown—almost black—hair, smooth tan skin, slender build, blue eyes, and a sense of humor to match it all.

She was the posterchild for beauty.

Mako leans up, already set in what he's going to do, and whispers, "Don't you know I think you're the prettiest thing I've ever seen?" before catching her lips with his own.

It's not like their first kiss; frenzied, surprising, hungry. It's gentle and slow and—

Should they be doing this? Mako doesn't know, and at the moment, he doesn't particularly care.

Korra's hands wrap around the base of his neck, and she exhales a shaky breath into his mouth, "Korra," he breathes, swallowing roughly, hands pulling at the loose strands of her hair. She's so bright and full of life—

"Mako," she mocks lightly, and he kisses her again. Their teeth clink together at the sheer ferocity of the kiss, and their hands grapple at each other, pushing to get closer together. It's impossible, though. They're already as close as they could be. But it's not enough for Mako.

Her lips tingle against his for what feels like hours. They pull away from each other for a short moment, exhaling sweet air between the two of them. Korra's eyelids droop, and her gaze flicks from his lips to his eyes. He swallows roughly, smooths a hand over her messy hair, and pulls her back to him.

Something stirs inside of him as Korra licks at his lips, and he presses a chaste kiss to her mouth before pulling away. He wants to—he wants to tell her everything that's rattling around in his brain and clogging up his mind, but all he can get out his her name, "Korra." he says, trying to convey everything he feels with those two syllables.

Korra's ocean eyes widen, "Mako." she breathes, voicing the same things he is. Everything they've felt since they'd met. This is unreal, he thinks, neither of them are supposed to—

Does he care, though? _Not really,_ he thinks darkly.

Their foreheads touch, and he leans towards her again, lips brushing hers. "Korra, I—"

The door to the training room slams open, and Bolin strolls in, Pabu on his shoulder, "Hey, bro, you seen Korra—_oh my Spirits!_" Bolin cries, screwing his own eyes shut before clapping both hands over Pabu's eyes. "Please tell me you were _not_ just macking."

Korra and Mako glance at each other, and Korra blushes. She's on his lap, having ended up there somehow during their...whatever it was. His arms are around her waist, trapping her against him. She knocks his arms away, jumping up, running a hand through her messy hair and laughing awkwardly.

Mako fights his own blush, and Bolin uncovers Pabu's eyes and opens his own, giving them both accusatory glances. He keeps his face blank, eye twitching when Bolin makes a kissy face at him.

"We weren't just macking." Korra lies, slipping into her shed clothing and sashaying from the room. Mako can hardly keep his eyes away from her retreating form, and Bolin gags.

The look Korra gives him before she shuts the door behind her tells him that they will definitely be finishing this conversation later.

(He can't wait.)

_fin._


End file.
